With a broken-down oven, in a hotel kitchen, on an uninhabited island
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Robin Cunningham works as an ultrasound technician by day, attends creative-writing classes at night, and takes photographs in between. She lives in Santa Cruz, California.
They breathe deeply and put their hot hands on me. I lie on their padded massage table, on their soft sheets. Light slants across the room and into the kitchen, illuminating the place where my seventeen-year-old dog lies on his bed, unable to move without human hands to hoist his hind end up, a human voice to encourage him on his journey into the leaf-covered yard.